


The Best Things

by just_another_classic



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fic Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21584119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: A series of unrelated oneshots centered around the canon and non-canon relationship between Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	1. Bandages

He wrapped bandages around her hand with a delicacy that surprised her. She half-expected him to kiss her bloodied knuckles, like a knight in formerly star-spangled armor would in the fairy tales from her youth. Steve didn’t, releasing her once he approved of his work. No matter, Sharon preferred the grit of war stories to the whimsy of fairy tales anyway. 

“You need to be careful,” he warned, voice low and rough and laced with a worry that wasn’t appropriate for a field commander to feel for one of his (wo)men. “There’s only one of you.” 

“Says the guy who is famous for jumping out of airplanes without a parachute.” There was a long list of reasons as to why he was far more indestructible than her, the superhuman to her human; but Sharon had never been one to hold herself back, and was willing to throw herself into a firefight with the best of them. “Besides, what’s a few busted knuckles compared to saving the world?” 

“In the future, it might not just be busted knuckles.”

“Then we’ll deal with that when it comes,” she replied with a shrug. “I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” 

“I might not.” This was the closest naked admission to whatever they had been dancing around since that kiss in Leipzig, since he showed up at her door with an offer of shelter and adventure just as she was about to disappear. “I...I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t promise that.” Injury, death, she knew the risks with this line of work. So did he. He also knew that she wouldn’t compromise the mission for him. “But I can promise that I’ll do everything possible to try to come home.”

Home was an amorphous thing. The next safe house. A warm bed. Somewhere to put food in her belly. And slowly, a vision was beginning to conjure that included him. 

He reached out to tentatively squeeze her uninjured hand. “That’s all I can ask.” 


	2. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gives Sharon a bruise, and Sharon believes turnabout is fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thepurpaholicstan prompted me to write the smutty sequel to [Country Roads, Take Me Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849162). This would have been fine, except I plan to expand upon that in another work; however, they were wonderfully kind and amendable to the idea of an USTy lead-up to that. 
> 
> (Sidenote: I would never have named that original fic "Country Roads, Take Me Home" had I known people would want more of that 'verse)

“You bruised me.”

Sharon tosses her hair over her shoulder, revealing a dark bruise at the juncture where shoulder meets neck. She isn’t too upset, not really. Any annoyance she feels at the obvious mark has long since been replaced by the realization of the many ways she can use it to her advantage.  _ “Turn your weaknesses into strengths,”  _ Aunt Peggy once advised. She doubts her aunt had this in mind when doling our sage truths.

Steve, to his credit, looks visibly chastened, his guilt offsetting his previous apprehension of her caging him in the bathroom with him only in a towel. It’s the absolute least she’s seen him in — seemingly trapped forever on second base until he gets it through his head that she doesn’t want special, she just wants him — and she makes a point of perusing his glistening form, still pink and wet from his earlier shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because he’s good like that. He even probably means it, mostly, but Sharon can see the way his eyes darken at the memory of how he’d given her that bruise, all teeth and tongue as he pressed her back against the wall.

“You owe me,” she replies. “Turnabout is fair play, Captain. A bruise for a bruise.”

“It won’t last. Not like yours will.” 

He’s not lying. Any mark she might leave on his body will fade by the next day. But that’s not what this is about. Oh no. This is about driving him wild, teasing and taking until his control snaps and he does  _ something. _

Sharon enjoys the time they’ve spent together. Sometime during the near century of life this man has lived, someone has taught him to kiss. Their furious make out sessions are as dizzying as they are fun, but they leave her wet and wanting and loathing whatever self-imposed code he’s instituted about their first time being someplace nice, solitary, and far away from the prying ears of their fellow refugees.

So, like she tells him, turnabout is fair play.

Steve’s eyes darken as she drifts closer into his orbit, his gaze focused entirely on her lips. He wants her, of that she has no doubt. But he’s also someone with so many thoughts, fears, worries, and guilt rattling around in his head, that she feels the need to nudge him along, to let him know with her words and mouth that  _ no, there’s no way to do this wrong _ . 

Then they’re kissing, mouths hot and tongues questing. His hands are everywhere at once, around her back and sliding down her sides before settling on her hips and squeezing tight. She breaks the kiss — unlike him, she cannot hold her breath for minutes on end — and delights in the flush of his cheeks and dazed expression on his face.

“So where am I getting this bruise?” Steve asks finally, his voice a low rumble that goes straight to her core. 

“Somewhere no one else will see.”

His brows raise, and that’s not the only thing that springs to attention. The towel hides so little. She presses closer, eager to tease. She traces her nails over his chest and nips at his collarbones. He watches her carefully, his breath quickening. 

Then she drops to her knees. 

“Sharon?”

She looks up at him, mischievous. “No worries, super soldier, just a bruise. Your virtue is safe.”

He huffs out a hysterical laugh, one that becomes more of a moan once she kisses his belly and traces the trail of hair leading below the now-tented towel with her fingers. She finds the place she wants to mark, the jut of his hip just before the line of the towel. She makes quick work of it, teeth and good bit of suction to mark his skin. Before she’s finished, Steve has tangled his hand in her hair and is panting like he’s run a marathon. If this is how he acts before she’s done anything of note, she can’t wait to see him actually fall apart.

Sharon falls back on her heels, enjoying her handiwork. There is a purple mark on his skin and his expression is every bit that of a man who wants so much more, foggy-eyed and mouth agape. He even makes a noise that’s every bit like a whine when she stands.

She gives him her best smug smile, and pats his chest. “See? Turnabout.”


End file.
